


7. Romance Is Dead & It Can Bloody Well Stay That Way

by WhatLocked



Series: 50 Reasons [7]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: But it's not fatal, Chaffed Willies, Champagne, Chocolates, In a semi-public place, Internet Forums are not Gospel, Interrupted Sex, Kinky Undies, Long Stemmed Roses, M/M, Non-Interrupted Sex, Romance, Rose Petals, Sherlock does Try, Stabbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 18:23:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10904886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatLocked/pseuds/WhatLocked
Summary: ‘According to the online forum he had joined over the following days, just standing in front of one's partner, while they were reading the paper and dropping trou, was not a form of romance.  Sherlock couldn’t understand why not because so far it was yet to fail as a method of getting John also naked and into bed.  But the experts all told him (and there were quite a few of them who told him in CAPS LOCK, no less) that this was definitely not on in the romance department.’It is their six month anniversary and a case has lead Sherlock to believe that romance will make their relationship and the sex that entails, somehow better.  Extensive research and a chat with the experts on such matters leads him to believe that it will be only a bit more than minimal effort, ending with favourable results and after all, millions of idiots around the world manage it successfully every day, so, how hard could it really be?





	7. Romance Is Dead & It Can Bloody Well Stay That Way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SherlocksSister](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlocksSister/gifts).



> Okay, so I am a horrible person. Despite all of the great suggestions I have received for this series it has been put on the back burner, nudged to the side, fallen down the back and left to go cold, but now I am retrieving it and warming it right back up. And to get things rolling again I have taken the suggestion by SherlocksSister and decided to go with:
> 
> “Sherlock decides to try romance - for a case. Cue flowers, chocolate and lacy underwear.”  
> Should be simple, right?
> 
> Don't forget to leave your suggestion in the comment box as to why these two boys should have super fantastic sex!

~~~~~~~~~~

It was the victim's neighbour who had put the idea in Sherlock's head.

 “Every second Thursday he would by her roses, cook her dinner and treat her like a princess” she had informed him, her tone wistful, her head tilted to the side and something resembling a small, fond smile tilted the very corners of her lips as the two of them watched the medic wheeling the stretcher, containing the third body, towards the lift.  

He could only assume that she was talking about two of the victims that had been found in the apartment behind them.  Along with the bodies, the crime scene had contained far too many candles, an overabundance of rose petals and an alarming amount of lacy undergarments. 

It was almost unnerving how quickly the wistful look dropped from her face, morphing into one of disdain, as she straightened up.  “Then they would bloody shag all night, screaming and carrying on.  The picture frame on my bedroom wall fell down the other week because they were knocking their bed against the wall so hard.  Good riddance to them, I say” and she turned to leave.

Not understanding the significance of it all, Sherlock reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, stopping her in her tracks.  “Sorry, but, what do dinner and flowers have to do with loud sex?”

The woman, clearly in her seventies and obviously past her days of performing vigorous sexual activities turned her head to look at Sherlock, a look of mild bewilderment and a lot of irritation that came from decades of perfecting, on her face.

“You have never tried to seduce a young lady?”  She asked, her eyes raking down his body and then up again before settling on his face.  “No, I don’t suppose a pretty boy such as yourself has had to try too hard.  I bet they all come flocking to you.”

Sherlock ignored her false assumptions and decided not to balk at being called a pretty boy.  Instead, he pursued his former line of question.  “Absolutely, yes, right, but how is all of this” and he held up a rose petal that had managed to make it’s way out to the corridor, in front of her face,  “Conducive to better sex?”

The woman gave a small sigh, as if she really didn’t want to be putting up with this sort of crap at her age, but answered his question anyway.

“That special lady in your life wants to feel even more special” she explained carefully.  “She wants to feel like she is the only girl in the world like you have nothing better to do than to worship the ground she walks on.  This doesn’t take much - a nice dinner, candles and flowers, maybe if she likes chocolates or champagne, a bit of racy lingerie.  If you give her all of that, she will tend to be a bit more…grateful, more amorous in the bedroom.”

Sherlock looked down from the old woman’s face to the red petal in his hand.  “And this is proven to work, every time?” Sherlock asked, maybe seeing the merit behind such a ridiculous idea, while also trying to weigh the thought of going through what seemed like an absurd amount of effort with the extra benefits such an endeavour would reap.

“Nine times out of ten, yes.  Every woman likes to be romanced” the woman announced as a matter-of-factly.

It was just at that moment that John came out and stood next to him, bumping his shoulder against Sherlocks.

“Ready to go home?” he asked Sherlock.

Before Sherlock could answer the old woman demanded, with a suspicious glare towards John “Who are you?”

“He is the special lady in my life” Sherlock announced.

It took exactly three point seven seconds for the irritation on the woman’s face to turn into a sneer.  “Bloody queers” she grumbled and then stomped into her flat and slammed the door shut.  

Both men stayed staring at the door for a brief moment and then John let out a weary sigh.  “You really need to find another way to introduce me to your friends, Sherlock.”

It was only a second later that the two of them were walking down the corridor, giggling as they made their way to the lift.

~o~

Now that the idea had been placed in Sherlocks head, he couldn’t seem to shake it and while he knew what romance was (after all, he accused John of being a romantic on a regular basis) he just could not see what all the hype was, just in order to have sex that was going to be given freely anyway.

The day following the case, John started typing it up in his blog and as Sherlock watched him sit at the desk, his tongue peeking out the corner of his mouth as he searched for a certain key, Sherlock wondered if going to the effort of setting up a romantic evening was really worth it?  After all, the sex was already amazing and John never turned it down when Sherlock ~~demanded~~ offered.  Well, almost never.  Sherlock had learnt that no matter how much skin he showed, in whatever seductive pose he chose to demonstrate, if John was giving him the silent treatment then it was best to leave things well alone because if he did keep pushing, Sherlock was actually afraid that John would make good on the threat to place those nipple clamps somewhere where they weren’t actually intended.   But this wasn’t the point.

The point was that what they had was brilliant, fantastic and bloody amazing.  In eight days, Sherlock and John would have been together for six months.  If Sherlock were being truly honest with himself,  and not avoiding sounding like a terrible line from a  cliched’ romance novel, he would say that it was, so far, the best six months of his life.  But being honest with himself was something he tended to avoid and cliches were terribly pedestrian and beneath him, so, he would just be happy to say that, It had been a fantastic six months.  There wasn’t any possible way that it could get better.  Well, at least that was what he thought, but on occasion Sherlock had been known to be ~~wrong~~ ignorant on such facts and on the odd occasion, conceded to someone else’s expertise on the matter at hand.  Especially matters of the heart and anything that involved sentiment as John, while not Sherlocks first sexual conquest (not even close), was his first emprise of the romantic side of relationships.

It was with that final fact in mind that Sherlock decided to stop sprawling on the couch, watching John painstakingly type up their recent case and instead put his time to better use.  He was going to research romance and all it entailed.  He was then going to determine whether it had a chance of making his and Johns sex life even better and while Sherlock was certain that there were no actual academic sources of information for his topic of research, he knew there was something much better.

Internet chat forums.

And so, it was with a plan in mind, he set to work.

~o~

The internet forums had been like striking gold.  Gold which had links to other sources of even more gold.  There were so many people out there who had so many practical theories and tested results on ‘ _romance equates to better sex_ ’ and once he weeded the list down to a few who genuinely seemed to know what they were talking about, it took no time at all to go from researching the benefits of romance to making a plan to actually implement it, for it was clear that the benefits were definitely worth the effort and according to _Yasamin_P7_ , John and Sherlocks upcoming six month anniversary was the perfect time to execute such a plan.

Now it was just a matter of figuring out what steps he needed to take to make the evening a success.

According to the online forum he had joined over the following days, just standing in front of one's partner, while they were reading the paper and dropping trou, was not a form of romance.  Sherlock couldn’t understand why not because so far it was yet to fail as a method of getting John also naked and into bed.  But the experts all told him (and there were quite a few of them who told him in CAPS LOCK, no less) that this was definitely not on in the romance department.

Obviously, a spreadsheet was needed, and by the time John had arrived home from work that evening Sherlock had several lists divided by different boxes, headers, graphs and all with extensive footnotes.  

Now all he had to do was set the wheels in motions.  There were people he had to see, items that needed acquiring.  

In one week, John Watson was going to experience the most romantic evening of his life.

~o~

It was Monday - six months since John and Sherlock had first had sex - and operation _Romance Watson_ was ready to go.  John was at work, Sherlock had everything that he needed so now all he needed to do, was to set it all up so it was ready when John walked through the door.

The day had started well, with a mutual hand job in the shower which Sherlock had purposely drawn out, resulting in John being five minutes late for work.  That would teach him for not agreeing to spend the day with Sherlock, making him put _Romance Watson,_  Plan A away, and having to resort to Plan B.

With John out of the flat, Sherlock wasted no time in setting things into motion.  The first thing he had to do was head out and pick up some last minute items he couldn’t keep in the flat without John asking questions.  

Once home he did a cursory cleanup, which to him was equivalent of a full spring clean  - but John would appreciate all the same - and then set about transforming their bedroom.  

Next was the meal.  Sherlock had had a very in-depth discussion with _lovely_lola_01_ about takeaway versus home cooked meals, and while Sherlock had wanted to order something special in, she had informed him that John would be much more appreciative if he put the effort into actually cooking him a meal, unless, of course, he was incapable of cooking.  Sherlock had informed her that he was, in fact, a very competent cook and just to prove her wrong, he had decided he would cook the meal, rather than order in.  The meal wasn’t difficult and took no time to prepare.  Once it was in the fridge, marinating in the sauce _he had made_ , he cleaned up the mess he had created and put the wine in the fridge to chill.

Once that was done he showered and changed, not only into the suit that John liked him in best but also into the new pair of pants (if one could call them that) that he had purchased specially for this evening.  They weren’t the most comfortable of undergarments he had ever worn, but after getting the advice of several of his romance network, this one, out of a selection of seven pairs, had come out on top as being the one most likely to get positive results from John.

Once he was dressed, the fish was taken out of the fridge and placed in the oven, and with only one hour before John arrived home from work Sherlock went about setting out a few extra props that were deemed Romantic.  

With forty-five minutes until John came home and nothing else to prepare, Sherlock adjusted his newly bought attire (it would take some time getting used to), sat down in his armchair and picked up the latest medical journal John had brought home and opened it up to find an article about parasitic infections.  This then saw him opening up Johns laptop and googling _Taenia solium_ and from there, the time just flew without him realising it.

It wasn’t until he heard John come into the living room, calling out his greeting, that he realised just how much time has passed.

“How was your d…is something burning?” John asked, his head craning around to look in the kitchen.

It was then that Sherlock noticed the burning smell as well and instantly remembered that he was supposed to have turned the temperature of the oven down, by thirty degrees, twenty minutes after the fish had gone in.  

Quickly, he vaulted out of the chair and rushed into the kitchen.  In no time, the oven door was yanked open and the room was filling with smoke.  

“Jesus Christ” John choked, waving a tea towel in front of him as he made his way over to open the kitchen window.  “Were you purposely trying to cremate something?” and he coughed as he made his way over to where Sherlock was placing the charred remains of their dinner on top of the stove.

“What was it?” John asked, peering over his shoulder. 

Sherlock looked down at the charcoaled mess in dismay.  “Dinner” was his miserable answer.

“Umm, well, I’m sure it’ll taste….maybe with some…I’m sure you meant well” John finally managed, trying to sound sincere, but Sherlock could hear the suppressed laughter in his voice.

Sherlock looked around to John who was doing his utmost best not to smile which in turn made Sherlock want to smile.  “Take away?” he asked, his lips twisting into something that was definitely not a smile.

“Takeaway” John answered as seriously as he could manage and then they both broke out in giggles.

~o~

The takeaway was nice.  The wine was nice.  Having to sit on the couch because the kitchen, and Sherlocks perfectly set table, was still too smokey was nice and Johns head resting on his shoulder as they watched the candles flickering on the coffee table was especially nice.

This was all confirmed by John murmuring, quietly, “This is nice.”

Sherlock hummed out his agreement and carefully stood up, wincing as it caused his newly acquired underwear to shift, reminding him once more that it was quite possibly the most uncomfortable thing he had ever worn, (and he was the tail end of a donkey in a school play once).  He ignored it though.  He wouldn’t be wearing it for much longer.

Sherlock made his way into the kitchen and returned moments later with the bottle of wine and a bowl of handmade chocolates that he had had crafted for this evening by a chocolatier who owed him several favours.  He had straight out refused the typical love heart shape, going with a more sensible oval shape, but had agreed on the raspberry filling that Marcus had suggested.  

“Wine and chocolates” John noted, as Sherlock sat back down.  “If I didn’t know any better, I would say you were trying to seduce me, Mr Holmes” and he smiled as he took a chocolate from the bowl that Sherlock had proffered in his direction.

“Is it working?” Sherlock asked with a very satisfied grin, pouring them both another glass of wine and John gave a returning grin and a slight waggle of his eyebrows as he bit into the chocolate. It was mid-chew that the cheeky glint left Johns face and cupping his hand under his mouth, he spat the chocolate out.

Sherlock frowned.  That was definitely not the reaction he was expecting.

“These have raspberry in them” John stated, standing up and making his way into the kitchen.  

Confused, and slightly put out, Sherlock followed to find John swishing water around in his mouth and spitting it in the sink, only to repeat the process. 

“Well spotted, John.  You can determine basic tastes” he answered, aiming for sarcastic and peeved, as the chocolates were supposed to be a very romantic gesture, especially since they were hand-made, specifically for John, but he was still confused as to Johns reaction and it came out sounding so.  

John turned to him and gave him a small smile of apology.  “Allergic to raspberries,” he said sheepishly.  “Break out in a full body rash if I eat them.”

How did Sherlock not know this about John?  He thought he knew everything about John, but clearly, he was wrong.  What else was there that he didn’t know about John? 

“It’s not a severe allergy and normally only becomes a problem if I actually eat them.  My tongue’s a bit itchy, but I’m pretty sure I will be fine” John informed him, moving closer to Sherlock.  “But thank you all the same.”

Sherlock grabbed the hand that John was now holding out to him and tugged him close. “I’m sorry” he mumbled and pulled John into a kiss.  Just a soft thing to apologise for an evening gone wrong and for not knowing him well enough.

Clearly, John didn’t want an apology and pushed into the kiss harder, parting his lips and licking along Sherlock's bottom lip.  Sherlock kissed back, just as hard.

Just then, Sherlock felt his phone vibrating in his trouser pocket.  

He silently cursed Lestrade, and he knew it was Lestrade without even looking at the caller ID because no-one else had such rubbish timing as the Detective Inspector, and put his hand in his pocket and silenced his phone.  It could wait.  What could not wait, was Sherlock's reaction to that very sultry look John was giving him.

“We could just skip the rest of the evening and go straight to the part where you undress me and then totally wreck me.”

Sherlock didn’t answer.  He just grabbed Johns hand and yanked him into the bedroom.

John almost stumbled as he entered the bedroom.  “You really went all out,” he said as he looked around the room.  The bulbs in the lamps had been replaced with a softer, lower watt bulb, the sheets were new and softer than even Sherlocks regular one.  Two long stemmed roses crossed over on each of the pillows and there were rose petals everywhere. _Linda_Lu_ had insisted that these were the be-all-and-end-all of a romantic evening at home.

“I hear that’s what one does on a special occasion” Sherlock replied, not at all interested in the room's decor, other than the fact that John was impressed.

John opened his mouth to reply, but whatever it was he was going to say, Sherlock never found out because, at that moment, Sherlock spun him around and gave him a not so gentle shove, sending the man sprawling on the mattress behind him.  

“I do believe you requested that I undress and wreck you.” Sherlock reminded him, crawling over the smaller man and attacking the buttons on Johns shirt with a fervour that can only be found when one is truly worked up, almost to the point of frustration.  Far too much talking was going on.

“Well then, I suggest you start wrecking” John replied with a smirk and in response Sherlock growled and latched his lips onto the skin just under Johns jaw, and sucked.  The reaction was instant and Sherlock didn’t have to see Johns face to know that the smug look was no longer on his face.  It was evident in the needy gasps that were coming from the man's mouth.

Before long, both men were shirtless, shoeless and incredibly aroused and this would have been perfect if it wasn’t for the fact that the more aroused Sherlock became, the more uncomfortable his underwear became.  He was about to open up the fly on his trousers, hoping to relieve some of the pressure against his groin, when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket again.  As discretely as possible, Sherlock reached into his pocket and powered his phone off.  Hopefully, Lestrade would get the message that Sherlock was. Not. Available.

Deciding that this wasn’t moving fast enough, and also noticing that he was kneeling rather close to the edge of the bed, Sherlock herded John up to the top of the bed and pushed him back down again with one hand, while the other hand went to the clasp of his trousers.  Once more, he was distracted from even marginally loosening the restraints from around his cock.

“Oww” John cried out, shooting back up into a sitting position and almost unseating Sherlock from where he was straddled over Johns' thighs.  “What the…” and Sherlock looked as John looked around to where two of the roses were nestled on the pillow.

John reached down and plucked one of the roses off of the pillow.  “I thought they were supposed to remove the thorns” he groused, pulling the flower closer to see that there was indeed a thorn on the stem of the rose.  A further look saw that it wasn’t the only one.  Three in total had been left on.  

With a frown and a huff of irritation at yet another interruption in their evening, Sherlock plucked the rose from Johns' hand and threw it over his shoulder.  He then gave the remaining three roses the same treatment and pushed John back on the bed once more, not appreciating the fact that John was chuckling at him.  Sherlock soon shut him up by kissing him and grabbing the bulge in his pants, probably a bit too roughly, but it did the trick and soon Johns laughs turned to moans and he started rutting up against the hand that was cupping him as Sherlock's mouth attacked on of his nipples.

Once more, Sherlock was about to undo his own trousers when they were halted once more by a rather persistent knocking on the door.

“Ignore it” John gasped as Sherlock's fingers began to push the button to his trousers through its hole.

“I have every intention of” he replied, nuzzling his head back against Johns hands, which had nestled themselves in Sherlock's hair.  

“Sherlock, John” came a very familiar voice over the sound of the pounding.

This brought an abrupt halt to Sherlocks moving and he ripped himself away from the bed, cursing and swearing under his breath as he stormed to the door of their apartment and wrenched the door open.

“What, in god’s name, Lestrade, could be so important that it couldn’t wait until morning” Sherlock demanded snarkily.

Lestrade stood before him, arm raised to knock but frozen in place, a look of stupefaction on his face at Sherlock's state of undress.

“Your phone was off” Lestrade finally stammered.  “John wasn’t ans…I thought something had happened.  You’re fine then?”

“Of course I’m fine.  Why wouldn’t I be fine?” Sherlock snapped and the dazed look on Lestrade’s face melted away into one of incredulity. 

“Oh, I don’t know” Lestrade started slowly.   “How about the time you pissed off the Irish drug smugglers and was missing for thirteen hours before someone realised that you were indeed, missing, or the time you and John got yourselves trapped in a shipping container ready to leave for South Africa because you didn’t tell anyone where you were going, or that time Lady Florence and her niece broke into your flat, had you stripped and then bound…”

“Fine, alright, I get the point” Sherlock interjected.  He really didn’t need to be reminded of that particular event.  “I’m fine, John is alive.  Everyone is good.  Is that all?  You can leave now, yes?”

Just then, John came to join Sherlock by the front door and Sherlock was dismayed to see all of his hard work undone.  John had his shirt back on and buttoned up.  Sherlock threw a dirty glare at Lestrade.

“Greg” John greeted.

“John” Lestrade greeted back.  “Sorry to interrupt, but neither of you was answering your phones.  We got a bit worried.  You know, after the Toucan Incident and all…”

John offered an understanding nod of his head.  ‘ _God_ ’ Sherlock thought vehemently.  ‘ _Why is the man always os bloody understanding!’_

“Sorry, my phones is in my coat” he answered, his head nodding to the side where his coat was hanging up, even though Lestrade couldn’t see it.  “Any reason you were calling?”

‘ _Nooooooo_ ’ Sherlock wanted to scream.  If they asked, then Lestrade would tell them there was a case and then Sherlock would become interested and John would insist they go because Sherlock would be distracted otherwise and Sherlock had put so much into making tonight - _their night_ \- special and _Bruno_Buns_of_Steel_ had said that any distractions would completely kill the mood and to avoid them at all cost otherwise he would find himself sleeping on the couch.

“Got a double homicide” Lestrade announced and Sherlock could already feel the lumpy texture of the couch cushions under his back.  “A nun and a baker at the Austin Friars.”

“Boring, leave” Sherlock barked, not wanting to hear the rest as the phantom feeling of the armrest of the couch pushing against the souls of his feet made him shuffle uncomfortably and his grip tightened on the door, ready to slam it shut.  

“Yeah, alright, let me finish” Lestrade groused and then turned his attention to John.  “They were found in a storage cupboard in an old room, which hadn’t been used in months.  A thick layer of dust everywhere, including on the floor, and only one set of footprints in the room, belonging to Mrs Delaware, the woman who found the bodies.”

“So, they were put there before the dust settled, boring.  Leave.”

“The victims were last seen, alive, yesterday evening.”

And there was the clincher.  Sherlock's grip on the door tightened even more.  He could feel his knuckles turning white.  This was better than a locked room mystery, because, well…dust.

“Text us the address.  We’ll be there shortly” John said and Lestrade nodded out a quick thanks before turning and leaving.

“John, we don’t have to…” Sherlock started once the downstairs door shut, but John cut him off.

“Undisturbed dust, Sherlock.  I could practically feel your body thrumming from here” and Sherlock was trying to listen for any hint of disappointment or anger in Johns tone, but there was nothing, except maybe a hint of humour.

“Come on, you finished getting dressed and I’ll make sure all these candles are out.  Quickly, otherwise, Anderson will disturb your dust.”

And that was the nail that sealed the coffin.

~o~

“You all right?” Lestrade asked for the fifth time that night.  The first four times he had asked this question, Sherlock had ignored him and then stopped trying to discreetly adjust his clothes, as clearly it wasn’t as discrete as he thought.

“Fine” he snapped, hoping this time, Lestrade would get the hint and realise Sherlock was not going to discuss it with him.

After all, what would he say?  ‘ _No, Lestrade.  I am actually feeling slightly uncomfortable as the kinky underwear I bought, especially for John and I’s six month anniversary, which you so rudely interrupted, is rubbing in some of the most uncomfortable places and I am really starting to wish I had taken them off before I left the flat, but thank you for your concern.’_

No, he wasn’t going to say anything and instead moved over to where Anderson was telling John something about something called a diplodocus.  John was doing a very good job of looking interested, which was a clear indication that it was time to be moving on, especially since there was nothing else to be gleaned from the crime scene.

“Everything okay?” John asked as Sherlock sidled up next to him, managing to cut Anderson off mid-sentence, yet still making it seem the polite thing to do.

“We need to go to the baker's house” he explained, ignoring Anderson’s eye roll and as usual, John didn’t ask for clarification.  He just nodded and followed, trusting that Sherlock knew what he was doing.  He’d call the taller man a dickhead later, if the occasion for it arose. 

~o~

“You’re a right dickhead, you know that, right?” John stated as they sat in A&E waiting for a doctor to come along and treat Sherlocks stab wound.  

Sherlock didn’t answer the question.  Instead, he changed the topic.  “Tell me again, why this isn’t happening, by you, at the flat?”

“Because, Sherlock,” John said, trying to stay calm,  “You have a seven-inch gash in your thigh and while I do have a suturing kit at home, it is for small wounds, flesh wounds.  Not deep bloody gashes caused by serrated edged scimitars, nor do I have the antibiotics you are going to need to be administered in order not to catch god knows what by the gunk that was on that blade, plus you are going to need a tetanus booster, since you can’t remember the last time you had one.”

Sherlock just huffed and rolled from his back to his unaffected side so he didn’t have to look at John who was in a fairly foul mood.  Sherlock huffed again.  How was he to know the alter boy was carrying a weapon.  He then wiggled uncomfortably because that bloody underwear was _still rubbing_.

Just then, the curtain pulled aside and a short, scrawny man in his late forties with a head of shocking red hair stepped into their cubical (Sherlock refused to call it a room as it had only three walls and no door).

“Mr Holmes” the doctor greeted cheerfully.  It did nothing to improve Sherlock's mood.  “I am Doctor Marlon.  How can I be of service this evening?”

Sherlock glared from the doctor to the chart in his hand and back to the doctor.  He was just about to open his mouth and let out a scathing and detailed remark about his inability to read a simple patient chart being somehow related to his infantilism kink, when John spoke.  

“Stab wound, approximately seven inches long, three inches deep to the upper left thigh, made with a serrated edged, dirty blade.  Paramedics have given it a cursory clean out and wrapped gauze around it.”

Doctor Marlon looked from Sherlock to John and smiled a friendly smile before looking back to Sherlock.  “Right, then.  If you could just slip your trousers off and we can have a look at it.”

Sherlock rolled to his back and was about to unbutton his trousers when a thought occurred to him.  The underwear!

“No” he spat out, his mind in a mini-panic.  Under no circumstances could anyone, other than John, see him in his current undergarments.

“No?” Doctor Marlon repeated, his smile finally faltering into something resembling bafflement.

“I can’t…not you…It…John” Sherlock finally managed to get out, looking to his partner and as always, John knew what to do.

“If you don’t mind, Doctor Marlon, it appears my partner is suffering from an unusual bout of self-consciousness.  If you could be so kind as to step out of the room, we will get him undressed and cover his new-found modesty with a sheet and then call you back in.”

The doctor’s smile returned and he nodded and stepped out of the cubicle, sliding the curtain closed behind him.

Once they were alone, John let out a weary sigh.  “Sherlock.  You want to tell me what’s going on?”

“It’s about tonight” Sherlock started and he could see the confusion on John's face.  “The dinner and the candles and everything, that wasn’t all.”

The look of confusion didn’t leave Johns face.  In fact, it only got worse.

With a sigh of his own, Sherlock decided that it would be best to just show John, rather than explain it, so with careful movements, Sherlock undid his pants and wriggled them down to mid thigh, just under his brand new gash.

It was barely a second after Sherlock had pushed his trousers down that John started laughing, and not just a little giggle, but a howling laugh that made his eyes water.

“John” Sherlock sulked.  This wasn’t the reaction he had been hoping for.

 Finally, John got his laughter under control.  “This is why you have been uncomfortable all night, fidgeting and wriggling away” he stated, wiping the corner of his eyes with his fingers, and a small huff of a chuckle escaped his lips before he clamped them shut again.

Sherlock frowned at Johns merriment over his unfortunate predicament.  “Yes,” Sherlock confirmed petulantly and then gave another uncomfortable wiggle.  “It chafes something bad.  Oh, god.  Look how red it is” he exclaimed with no small amount of horror as he looked down at the flesh underneath the black netting that encased his genitals.  

John leant over and inspected the sight closer and another small giggle slipped out.  “You idiot.  I thought you had gotten worms or something.  Why didn’t you take it off?”

“Everyone said…”

“Everyone?” John asked, his humour now sounding something akin to concern, possibly at the fact that Sherlock had been discussing underwear with other people.  

“Yes, everyone on the forums I used to gain information on how to include more romance into our relationship, they said sexy lingerie was part of the romancing ritual. It was integral, in fact."

“Everyone are idiots” John replied and Sherlock was happy to see that his smile was no longer mocking, but fond.

“Yes, they are” Sherlock replied with his own smile and then winced when his red and sore penis, twitched against the course material of his underwear.  John’s face was far too close.

“Take them off and lay on your side” John instructed and helped Sherlock pull his trousers and pants off the rest of the way, covering Sherlock with a sheet in a way so only his thigh was showing.  “We will get Dr Marlon into stitch you up and I will go see if I can’t get some cream off of one of the nurses for your…chaffing”  he ended, not even bothering to hide his grin.

“’S not funny, John” Sherlock pouted and John replied by placing a kiss on his temple.

“Of course not” John replied and Sherlock knew he was lying as he was still trying not to smile.  “Do you mind if I dispose of these?” John asked, stopping at the entrance to the cubicle, holding up the black article of torture.

“I never want to see them again” was Sherlocks immediate, definite answer.

“Good,” John said and then he was gone.

~o~

They were walking down a quiet corridor of the hospital, Sherlock leaning against John as he limped as he had outright refused the use of a wheelchair, while he lamented the fact that the night was a complete washout.  Nothing had gone right, he was injured and quite soon the medication the doctor had given him was likely to make him drowsy, his penis had been slathered in a thick white cream that, to be honest, was helping to sooth the itch and sting caused by stupidly ridiculous undergarments and John was exhausted.  Which was why, when John quickly stepped away and yanked him into a darkened room, Sherlock was completely taken by surprise.

“John, what are you…”

“Shh,” John hissed as he shut the door and looked to Sherlock.  He was only just visible in the dim light of the room, but what Sherlock could see sent his heart rate ticking, just a fraction.

“Given the medication they gave you to manage the pain and your history with other stimulants I would give it around thirty minutes to three-quarters of an hour before they take effect, so that doesn’t give us a great deal of time for me to show you how much  I really, really appreciated all the trouble you went to to make tonight exquisitely romantic.”

Sherlock scoffed.  “I hardly think you could call tonight romantic, John.  A train wreck would be a better way to describe tonight's events.”

“Are you seriously going to argue with me on this now? “ John asked in a hushed voice as he traced Sherlocks lower lip with his thumb.

Sherlock felt a shiver run down his spine at the feather light touch and at the promises it brought.  “No” he whispered back.

“Good” was Johns own whispered answer before his lips fell to Sherlocks.

The kiss was hard and fast and John wasted no time undoing Sherlock's trousers and letting them fall to the floor.

Sherlock pulled away from the kiss, as much as John would let him.  “John, as much as I appreciate this, I don’t think my penis could stand…

Apparently, John had other ideas.  “Stop talking and turn around” he commanded and who was Sherlock to disobey John when John used _that_ tone.

With swift, yet gentle movements, John eased Sherlock over a low cupboard that was just by the doorway and Sherlock could hear the sound of rustling behind him before a warm, slick finger pushed up against his entrance.

Not expecting John to dive straight in, so to speak (he did often lecture Sherlock on the benefits of foreplay, after all), Sherlock jumped at the feeling, before relaxing enough to allow John to push his finger forward.  

“Where did you manage to get lube?” Sherlock asked, quickly followed by a gasp as John pulled his finger out and then thrust it back in again.

“Nicked it from the supply cupboard when the nurse was looking for your willy cream” John replied with far too much merriment in his voice.

“Johhhhn” Sherlock moaned and not even he was sure if it was petulance or pleasure that had caused the moan, for, at that moment, John crooked his finger and rubbed over Sherlock's prostate.

John leant over Sherlock and lipped at his neck, just by Sherlock's ear.  “We need to be quick and you need to be _quiet”_ He whispered into Sherlock's ear. “Who knows when they will need this room.”

To back up his claim, John withdrew his finger and then pushed it back in, this time a second finger next to it.  Rather than slowly opening Sherlock up, teasing him and taking his time, as was his usual MO, John let out a full on assault on Sherlock's prostate, causing Sherlock to bury his face in his arms and bite down on the sleeve of his coat.  While this stopped him from crying, _screaming_ , out it did nothing to inhibit the grunts and moans that were forming deep in Sherlock's chest.

Johns fingers pushed and thrust, swiped and prodded against that wonderful little gland and Sherlock could feel himself leaking, not at all caring that it was more than likely dripping onto the floor. 

A low keening noise filled the room as John allotted a particularly forceful thrust inside of him.  “John, fuck me, now.”

The words were low and needy, sounding strained as Sherlock tried to push back against John's fingers, but Johns other hand was holding his hips in place.  

Thankfully, John must have heard the need in Sherlock's plea, either that or he was still mindful that they needed to be quick, but either way, Sherlock was relieved when John's hand left his hip and the sound of a zipper being pulled down could be heard.  

A whimper left Sherlock's mouth as John's fingers withdrew from his body, but the whimper morphed into a loud moan when they were, replaced with Johns cock, and with both hands holding tightly ontoSherlock'ss hips, John wasted no time fulfilling Sherlocks request and started fucking him hard and fast.

For a few brief minutes the room was filled with sounds of panting and gasping and the squelch of John thrusting in and out of Sherlock, their skin slapping against each other on each thrust and then, ignoring Johns warning of keeping quiet, Sherlock let out a loud, throaty cry as he came hard, the results of his orgasm hitting the cupboard in front of him with a dull _splat_ , barely audible over the sounds of John trying to stifle his moans as he continued to pound into Sherlock.  It was not even a minute later that Sherlock felt John thrust one last time as he came, increasing his grip on Sherlocks hips as he did so.

As quickly as his orgasm had washed over him, weariness engulfed Sherlock, leaving him half slumped on the cupboard and with not enough energy to actually care. 

He was tired and extremely satisfied.  He would be happy to lay there for the rest of the night, but apparently, John had other ideas.  Somewhere in the fog of the release of endorphins from fantastic sex and the effects of whatever Doctor Marlon had give him, Sherlock could hear water running.  It wasn’t until he felt cool paper towel wiping over his lower half that he realised John was cleaning him up and redressing him.

“Come on, lets get you home” John coaxed, gently tugging on Sherlocks hand, and they slowly made their way out of the hospital and into a taxi that would take them both home.

~o~

John helped Sherlock up the stairs to 221 B and then into their bedroom, where he left Sherlock perched on the edge of the bed as he made quick work of swiping all of the rose petals onto the floor, before turning his attentions back to Sherlock and started to undress him, since Sherlock seemed to have lost all use of his fingers, somewhere between the hospital and home.

“As much as I appreciate your earlier attentions and our introduction into public sex,” Sherlock said as John pulled off his shoes and socks.  “I have decided to leave the romance to those who are more…romantic.”

“I think that is a grand idea, Sherlock” John hastily agreed as he tugged Sherlocks shirt off of his shoulders.  

“We are good at us” Sherlock stated firmly, a determined frown on his face.  “And the sex is great.”

John hummed in agreement and swung Sherlock around, laying him back against the pillow.

“I mean, it’s just all nonsense anyway, the flowers and the fish and the allergies…” Sherlock felt his eyes slowly close and, not wanting to fall asleep, snapped them open again.  “…And all the candles are a fire hazard John, a disaster just waiting to happen.”

“The meds kicking in?” John asked and slid Sherlocks trousers down his legs and threw them on the floor, and if Sherlock wasn’t feeling so fluffy he would have noted the amusement in Johns voice.

“ I don’ know” Sherlock slurred, his eyes drifting shut once more.  “Can’ feel ‘nything.”

John pulled the quilt up over Sherlocks naked body and tucked it under him.

“For what it’s worth, I appreciated everything you did tonight and had we not been called away on a case, I would have let you have your wicked ways with me until we both passed out from exhaustion.”

Sherlock felt a smile try to take over his mouth, before it fell lax again.  It wasn’t long after that he felt the mattress dip and John pressed up against his body.  

“Goodnight, Sherlock” John said with a press of his lips against the side of Sherlocks head. 

“G’nigh’” Sherlock replied groggily and then fell asleep.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I would just like to say that I in no way wished to discredit the manufacturers of the ‘Male Power Stretched Net Bong Thong’ (Try saying that ten times fast) nor the product itself. I am sure it is very comfortable and does not, in any way, cause chaffing to places better left unchaffed, but once I saw it, it did make me think of a pair of knee-highs I once owned, which were not exactly soft to the touch and definitely not something I would want near my lady bits, under any circumstance. 
> 
> To get a look at what I so horribly made poor Sherlock wear for several, uncomfortable hours, check out this website: https://malepower.com/product/bong-thong-15/ 
> 
> WARNING: Image NSFW!!!!! Unless, of course, your work allows images of penis’ in net undies!


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